


If I Look Back, I Am Lost

by secretfeanorian



Series: the worst things in life come free to us [14]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: mentions of Morgoth, mentions of the kinslayings, worlds finds out about Maglor’s past, …some of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2149212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretfeanorian/pseuds/secretfeanorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His chest aches with sorrow, but he does not look back. Not even once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Look Back, I Am Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Author: I just realized that I never really explained the quote thing and I realized this because the one for this piece doesn’t really seem to fit the piece. The quote at the beginning of the story is normally somewhat connected to the piece, but I mostly just stick it there because that is the quote that I look at when I start the story. Some pieces just come to me, but most have to have a prompt of some sort and this is where the quotes come in. The pieces that don’t have a prompt, I find a quote for, but that isn’t this one. Part 15 went in a completely different direction than I intended it to go in, so that is why the quote is so…not really relevant. Just thought I share that with you, so you’re not sitting at your computer/phone/whatever going “What the hell is she doing? That isn’t related to the plot of this piece in any way” because that would be what I would do.

_He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby becomes a monster. And if thou gaze long into the abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee.  
_

* * *

“Over the past several months, the public has only grown more interested in the mystery that is Macalaurë.  Despite constant attempts by the press and by civilians, no more has been revealed about this non-human, yet non-alien Avenger. The more time that passes in silence from the Avengers, the more people rally together behind signs that scream for answers. The self-proclaimed “Quendi” has remarked several times and has made it very clear through his actions more than several times that he has no intentions of revealing his secrets and his teammates seem to be equally disinclined. The public can respect privacy, but this goes beyond simple privacy. With the declarations that Macalaurë is not human, but is also not an alien, the Avengers have opened the door for hundreds of questions and they are now refusing to answer even a single one. Did they expect us to accept the fact that there are other intelligent life forms on this planet that are not humans quietly and without asking questions? The secrets that they are withholding from the general public are secrets that must be given up. If they continue to remain secrets, it is likely that–”  
  
Maglor yanks out the plug for the television and slams his head against the wall. “Maglor?” He hears someone call from the next room over and he groans dramatically in response. There’s an almost silent buzz of conversation that lasts for only two or three minutes before Steve pokes his head into the room. “No one is going to make you talk about your past.” He says and Maglor snorts.  
  
“Perhaps not, but I have lived for an eternity and I will live for eternity and they will make my life completely miserable for as much of that eternity as they can.” He sighs and falls back onto the couch and mutters; “I hate humans.” That statement is quickly followed by him jerking back up and saying “People! I hate people! Humans are just as hate-able as all other races, no more, no less. Humans are just…the only…race…left…” Maglor takes in a deep breath and lets it out all at once as an annoyed huff.  
  
Steve is still standing in the doorway and Maglor waves his hand in a gesture that is supposed to convey “I’m fine, go away”. He’s completely sure the second part was successfully transferred as Steve turns and leaves, but he’s not so confident about the first half’s successful transference. He almost wants to call after Steve or maybe even get up and follow him into the other room, but Maglor doesn’t move and continues staring at the now-blank T.V. screen, his brow furrowed in thought.  
  
Finally, he shakes himself from his thoughts and would turn the T.V. back on, except that he had unplugged it and doesn’t want to get up to plug it back in so he shifts around on the couch until he’s sort of lying down and stares up at the ceiling.  
  
He must’ve fallen asleep because the next thing he remembers later is someone leaning over him and poking his forehead. His vision clears and he’s not completely awake still, but he tries to focus on Tony as he says something about the press. He rubs his eyes one and hesitantly asks Tony to repeat what he had said, as he had still been half asleep and had no idea what had been said.  
  
“The press is going nuts right now. I’m pretty sure we pushed the limit and they are demanding some kind of an answer to the great mystery. A herd of them are camped outside of the tower and are harassing anyone who tries to come or go.” Tony repeats and Maglor is definitely entirely awake now.  
  
He rolls over onto his stomach and groans. “Can’t you make them go away without me?” He mumbles into the couch cushions.  
  
Tony sighs. “We’ve tried. Reporters are a stubborn bunch. They have no comprehension of the concept of privacy. We just thought you might want to know what was going on.”  
  
Maglor snorts in agreement and rolls off of the couch. “How much do you think I’ll have to give them before they’ll go away?” He asks and Tony shrugs.  
  
He stops Maglor before he can leave the room and warns; “They’re going on about rumors of murder and civil wars. Some family apparently has some legends that have been passed down “since forever” that talk about Elves and somehow, that family has connected it to you and I’m pretty sure the genocide bit is what got them all fired up.”  
  
Maglor’s eyes flash in fear for a moment before he apparently forces it back down and moves for the elevator. “Good to know,” He says to Tony and mutters “Eru save me” to himself.  
  
When they reach the lobby – where there are now several reporters who somehow managed to force their way in during Tony’s short absence – a reporter is asking Steve “what do you have to say about your teammate now that you know he has committed genocide?”  
  
Maglor freezes in the elevator, but Steve just **glares** at the man until he is beginning to sink into the floor and then he says, “Some family produces a collection of legends that are possibly millions of years old that have no doubt been changed and corrupted over that time, point at Macalaurë as if there’s any evidence that frames him as being one of the seven brothers, and you just accept this without asking a single fucking question?”  
  
The reporter starts to say something, but Steve glares harder at him and he sinks further into the ground. He then continues with, “I have heard Macalaurë’s history first from Thor and then from Macalaurë himself and while he may not have a clean slate, he has not committed genocide. You look at the Avengers, _none_ of us exactly have a clean slate and a sinless past. And as for me, I may have murdered and done terrible things in the name of good things, but that does not lessen the terribleness of those things. You can go on about my righteous reasons all you want, but at the end of the day, if you’re going to accuse Macalaurë of being evil because he fought in a war fueled by pride and anger and killed people in that war, then I am evil alongside him.”  
  
The reporters had gone quiet after Steve finished and looking back later, Maglor is pretty sure that they would’ve dropped the subject for a little while longer had he not said anything, but in that moment, something explodes within him and the truth slips out.  
  
He steps into the room and all eyes are suddenly on him. “There are several reasons why you are wrong Steve.” He says and the reporters start to whisper. “The first is that you weren’t fighting for the side that started the war out of pride and anger and whatever else it may have been. The second is that the war we started that you speak of was not against our own people, but against Morgoth and so the slaughters you are thinking of were not part of that war. The third is that you weren’t leading a broken and desperate “army” that waged war on any who crossed their path regardless of their allegiances. And the fourth is all the innocent men, women, and children who lay in thick pools of their kindred’s blood as the victorious murderers searched for the jewel that they had all been slaughtered over. The difference between you and I is not that you sought freedom; we fought for Morgoth’s downfall. Sometimes...” Maglor draws off for a moment, then launches back into his confession.  
  
“The difference is that you were and are someone people tell their children about as a person to be looked up to and admired and that before my family slipped away into a story and then a legend and then a few scattered myths and then forgotten, the only thing a person felt when they spoke of my family was hate and maybe fear. Children were told to behave or else they’d be left to the feanorians.” He pauses again and takes a deep breath. “Steve is right about one thing though. I never committed genocide or attempted to do such a thing. However; it would seem that over many long years and through numerous translations from language to language, kinslaying became genocide.”  
  
Every single person in the room, including Steve and Tony, is frozen, in horror or shock or fear. Maglor looks over at Steve and smiles bitterly. “It sounds a lot more horrible when you take away the fancy words and the worthless regrets, doesn’t it? That is the truth, uncensored and untwisted. That is the bare truth of the matter.”  
  
Maglor shoves his way through the horrified reporters to the door. The second he steps foot on the street, the reporters who hadn’t managed to force their way into the lobby crowd him, but he shoves them out of his way. He is without his swords, as he hadn’t seen any real reason to bring them down with him, but paranoia forged in a curse of betrayal had ensured that he always kept at the very least a dagger on his person and so as the crowd tightens around him, he moves his hand to rest on the hilt, and the reporters draw back as one when they see the all-too-clear threat.  
  
Maglor finally pushes his way through the reporters and breaks into a run. Only after he’s gotten a few miles away for the tower does he slow into a walk and pull the hood on his jacket over his head. He sighs deeply and looks over his shoulder at the tower, before shaking his head violently and pretending not to notice the tears that have made their way onto his face.  
  
He clears his throat as quietly as he can, then speeds his pace to a fast walk and sets a course in a general westward direction. It takes him a few minutes to even realize that he’s instinctively begun to head west and when he finally does realize, he has to struggle to hold back a breathy and loudly annoyed sigh so as to not draw unwanted attention (or, any attention at all for that matter) to his person.  
  
 _‘I could go west all I wanted, around the entire globe, hell, I could go west around the entire fucking landmass of the planet a hundred times, a thousand, a million: just walking forever and going around and around and around over and over and over again and I would never ever once even come close to beginning to find home again.’_ He thinks angrily and he almost says it aloud as well before remembering to stop himself. He jams his hands into his pockets vehemently and speeds up his pace even more, heading out of the city. (And, despite his anger, he doesn’t change his direction from the generally west one he hadn’t meant to set)  
  
He’s lost so much so often in his life that he knows how to deal with the pain of the loss. There’s a heavy ache in the center of his chest slowly spreading out to encompass his entire body that is rooted by sorrow, but he doesn’t look back. Not even once.  


End file.
